11 November 2012 Milton Showgrounds, Shoalhaven, NSW

There was an absolute feast of international rugby this morning; something for every supporter. For ourselves, we were restricted to the test between France and Australia held in Paris. The alarm was set for 7 am and even then, we missed the first ten minutes or so of the game. The Wallabies were smashed! I should not say that with such relish; I should be more supportive of this nation which is doing such a fine job of hosting my husband and I, this nation which adopted my husband all those years ago as one of their own. But loyalties run deep, especially when one is raised on the game from the cradle. In an exercise of self-preservation, I have not mentioned the game to anyone else today, although chances are they would not be that interested. Rugby just does not have the following here that it has in New Zealand.

We were still away from camp before the check out deadline, heading across the Clyde River once more and north up the Princes Highway, through more state forest, up and down over the coastal hills, although here, further north, they are not quite so steep.

Ariving at Burrill Lake, we pulled into the Lions Park right on the Inlet. After a reviving cup of coffee, we wandered out toward the entrance, noting the many families fishing, kayaking or swimming, all making the best of the much improved weather.

Four kilometres on we reached Ulladulla, having travelled a mere fifty two kilometres from Batemans Bay. I had read that this seaside town had a small sheltered harbour, home to many commercial fishing boats, who count on the annual Easter Sunday “Blessing of the Fleet” for their safety; probably a lot more fun that a manual of bureaucratic Health & Safety rules. I had also thought that this place might be worth a longer look that one grabs on passing through and had checked out accomodation in the area. Chris on the other hand, had Nowra in his sights, so somewhere along the way, we needed a meeting of the minds.

Sunshine makes such a difference and it is only fair to say that both of us were most impressed with what we saw. This was no tinpot village with just a fishing wharf. Ulladulla is a substantial township of over 12,000 inhabitants, and seems to have everything that Batemans Bay has, if not more. Chris suggested we drive on to Milton, set up camp and decide from there what to do. Having found showgrounds closed to us before, we reckoned we had a 50/50 chance of it being open for business, or at least the business of accommodating travelers such as oursleves. We came over the edge of the ridge, on which this small historical village sits, surprised at the extent of the residential area, and then down to the edge of the town to these showgrounds, green with real grass and trees. Beautiful rural land stretches beyond all the way west to the escarpment and endless forest. This was definitely the place for us.

And so we set up and now expect the caretaker to call upon us at some time in the late afternoon, to collect the modest tariff from us. There are about half a dozen others already here, and earlier, there was a kennel club doing its thing in a corner paddock.

The lighthouse at Warden Head

After lunch and after checking out the cricket progress, happy to have excellent televison reception, we drove back to Ulladulla, just five kilometres south of us, popped into the Information Centre for a tear off map and made our way out to Warden Head, the southern protecting arm of the Ulladulla Harbour. Here on the point stands an operational lighthouse, relocated from the harbour breakwater in 1879. It is one of only two NSW lighthouses constructed from wrought iron plates. None of this is explained out at the lighthouse but then the structure is not particularly attractive anyway. I had read this while doing my pre-travel homework.

From here we set out on a walk just short of an hour, along the top of the cliffs from where we observed stupid fishermen standing out on the long rock ledges extending out into the heavy surf. Further around to the south, we watched several dozen wet-suited surfers waiting for the perfect wave and frequently catching one that suited their purpose. We wandered through the charred remains of a casuarina forest and then through another of banksias and healthier casuarinas. We came upon a crimson rosella, seemingly alone. We have seen so many of these on our travels, rising from the roadside, but here we watched it close up in the branches just metres from us. From the northern side of the point, we looked back toward the harbour and up the coast, spotting great plumes of smoke giving evidence to a bush fire somewhere to the north. We decided it was probably directly east of Milton, and just hoped that we would not be effected by the smoke, and yet as I write of this, it is the first I have thought of it since initially seeing the smoke.

We paused on our return at the park above and opposite the wharf and marvelled at this delightful spot, glad that we had bothered to take time to explore further.

Before heading back down to the showgrounds at Milton, we walked up and down the main street, quiet now at 3.30 on a Sunday afternoon. Milton has been classified by the National Heritage Trust but unlike others we have passed through, is well manicured and has that X-Factor the others do not. There are antique and curio shops, galleries and cafes as well as the necessary services including an IGA superette and charming village greens and interpretative panels about, including the story of apparently the last aboriginal woman in the region who lived in a cave and charged familes of newborns 6 pence for every newborn, for the privelege of having been born in her land.

We returned to our rural setting, the cricket still on and looking a little more hopeful for the Aussies but then there are still two more days to play.

10 November 2012 - Shady Willows Holiday Park, Batemans Bay, NSW

I woke several times during the night; the first time to the raucous racket of birds who should have been asleep in the trees, and the second time to the sound of heavy rain on the roof. Fortunately by the time we were up and breakfasted, the world had returned to order; the sky was mostly clear and the birds were functioning as they ought. We were however a little suspicious about the day so headed down town to buy a few provisions and the weekend newspaper, and to check out the day.

The weather looked more promising than the forecasts so we returned to camp, packed up our lunch in the eski and headed off southwards along the coast, pretty much following the route we had towed the caravan up from Moruya. This time however we were more manoeuvrable and took advantage of all the little streets into all the little lookouts and bays. We stopped at Observation Bay from where we could see the harbour entrance and the small islands laying directly to the east, then at Surf Beach where we walked along the firm wet sand, jumped across small creeks, walked around the rocks and onto Wimbie Beach, the wind tugging at our hats anchored by elegant chin straps. We stopped at Malua Bay and ate our lunch sitting in the cruiser because sitting out in the breeze did not appeal. And then we continued on down to Guerilla Bay and turned onto Burri Point Road, where we had done so several days ago in a futile attempt to walk to Burrawarra Point.

Today we were able to park in the one decent car park, vacated as we arrived. Why do they show this on the map if they don’t want folk to go there? Actually we have decided that the wombles who administer National Parks and the like, do not want the public to go anywhere near these areas. They do their utmost to discourage nature lovers, leaving the access roads as hideous as possible, providing the fewest and most awkward of parking spots, erecting fancy eco-composting toilets at enormous cost and greater stink, even when there is running water nearby. We are never amused by any of this. But here I am again on another bandwagon!

Here at Burrawarra Point, we set out on the fifty minute walk through the bracken and banksias along the sandy path and were back at the car within half an hour. And that was including several minutes standing under the banksias gazing with delight at the first Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoos we had ever encountered in the wild. When we first approached their posse, we were sure it was the croaking of a crowd of noisy frogs we could hear, which was rather bizarre because we were high above the sea and there was no sign of creek or swamp. I then searched for honey-eaters thinking this might be a special sound for “How soon are these banksias going to flower and offer up their nectar?” Instead we spotted the cockatoos and watched with great joy as they “croaked” and screeched to each other. Another first! They are very large birds; fifty eight to sixty five centimetres according to our field guide. I do love the Australian parrots and cockatoos.

From right out on the point, the views from the cliff top both north and south were spectacular. Below us, the waves crashed on the ragged rocky shore. As I keep saying, this coastline is just so beautiful!

We returned to the George Bass Drive, pulling into Barlings Beach, then Tomakin where we stopped to wander through a community garage sale. Had we been in the market for beds or couches, we could have come away with some wonderful bargains. In fact there were huge numbers of any item you might find at a domestic garage sale and I would suggest it is the place to go for any second hand stuff, although we did find their collection of books rather overwhelming.

Our return to Batemans Bay was back up through a string of secondary roads, finally emerging from the Mogo State Forest onto the Princes Highway just north of Batemans Bay. We were unpacked and ready for the cricket about 2 pm only to find that it was pouring cats and dogs in Brisbane and the cricket has been replaced by a string of old westerns on the television. I do hope, for Chris’s sake, it will recommence soon because I think his chances of catching any of it tomorrow are negligible. We are moving further north tomorrow. I did note also this morning that it exactly four weeks before we fly to New Zealand. I am sure we will manage to take in all the remaining part of the coast between here and Sydney before then!

9 November 2012 - Shady Willows Holiday Park, Batemans Bay, NSW

We were out the gate by about 9.30 this morning, across the Clyde River and heading up the Kings Highway the ten short kilometres to Nelligan. Here we came upon a community meeting on the reserve beside the river; some of the two hundred or so inhabitants listening to a couple of council workers with a white board. While the officials invited input, I suspect their plans were already signed off. We heard one chap suggest a need for more than one barbeque in the park area, the response was immediate; there would only be one. It was a public relations exercise only, although the inhabitants of this very small village might have hoped otherwise.

While we could not help but agree that Nelligan was situated in the most delightful spot here on the Clyde River, we had expected more. Nelligan was established in 1854 and by all accounts was a much more significant settlement than Batemans Bay downstream. The first Europeans travelled down from Braidwood during the 1830s, initially attracted by the apparently endless supply of valuable timber and the obvious export route by river. By the 1860s, Nelligan was a thriving sea port servicing bi-weekly paddle steamers docking with passengers and cargo, bound for inland settlements by bullock and horse teams. We read that thirteen such teams made their way through to Araluen each week, by the road we had returned a few days ago. This absolutely beggars believe when you consider the steep grades up over Mount Clyde and then back down off the escarpment to Araluen.  

A punt service across the Clyde River was begun at Nelligan in 1895 and continued until 1964 when the Nelligan bridge was completed, eight years after that at Batemans Bay. It was really only then that Batemans Bay kicked off its development.

It was in 1885 that Nelligan was proclaimed a town, then supporting a population of 500 employed in shipping, timber and agricultural industries. A map in the reserve area shows the sites of significant buildings, many no longer in existence, having fallen victim to flood, bushfire or termites. In fact there are very few public buildings left; as I said, I had expected so much more.

However one cannot dispute the delightful setting. I thought how wonderful it would be to kayak on the river which today, in the aftermath of the rain, looked so peaceful although the mosquitos were out in force already enjoying the scene and even more, the fresh tourist blood.

In the museum yesterday, we had read of another bushranger gang, this time the Clarkes, our namesake, whose tale is not unlike the Kelly gang of Victoria. The initial criminal activities have been attributed to harsh and unfair treatment by their employers; however they crossed the line with holdups of publicans, storekeepers, farmers, travellers, the mail and gold shipments from Nerrigundah and Araluen, then finally for murder. They were finally captured in an ambush, and tied to a tree at Nelligan awaiting shipment to Sydney for their final act; Tom and John, aged 26 and 24 respectively were hanged from twin gallows at Darlinghurst Jail in June 1867, ending a reign of terror on the south east coast of New South Wales which had cost the lives of at least eight men. Chris assures me that these villains were no relation.

The tree to which they were allegedly tied to before their final sea journey stands beside the Clyde River, on the reserve. It looks old enough to be authentic. 

The ford at Shallow Crossing

We left the bitumen of the highway, and headed up River Road, following the west bank of the Clyde. What a beautiful route, albeit dirt and more often than not, mud. Had there been more rain, the surface may have been greasy and treacherous, but today it was smooth and a pleasure to drive. Signs at the turnoff warn that the road is not suitable for large vehicles or caravans, and we would endorse this. One of the fords in particular was very uneven and required careful attention. There are also warnings on our maps that the river crossing at Shallow Crossing, where the river truly becomes unnavigable, “Crossing impassible during heavey rain or hightides”. Shallow Crossing is also listed in the CMCA bible as being a free camp. We saw this; a grassy paddock directly above the river crossing, but apart from this, there appeared to be no recreational area at all. We would caution any camper against using this free camp as a base or to save a dollar or two, and only to make the effort if you have a yen to paddle about in a kayak or to fish.

The concrete crossing lies beneath the river surface, and probably is always so except in extreme drought conditions. It is narrow, well maintained, and has marker poles to indicate the edge if the river were too muddy or deep for good visibilty. These were quite unnecessary today; in fact conditions were so good I had Chris drive part way across for a photo opportunity and then reverse to collect me.

Sadly the road does not offer any opportunity for access to the river apart from that crossing, although the river is within view from many spots as one continues en route. We turned east and drove on through the Boyne State Forest, encountering very few fellow travellers, finally emerging on to the Old Princes Highway, which surprisingly was no less of a forest track that we had been travelling for the past hour. Finally we arrived at the new Princes Highway and started to look for either of the two picnic spots marked on the map. It was past midday, and just like our oldest grandaughter, we become grumpy if we are not fed on time.

In desperation we turned east again off the highway, seven kilometres into Pebbly Beach. We had not realised this was a “pay” beach, one of those along the coast included in the Murramarrang  National Park. We were not intending to do the park today and so, not being prepared to pay for the privelege of eating our own lunch, remained in our vehicle in the car park.  Perhaps tomorrow we will return, pay our dues and take advantage of the beautiful scenery suggested beyond the ticket station.

We returned to the highway but soon detoured yet again up to the Big Bit Lookout, high up in the Boyne State Forest, from where we could enjoy 360 degree views, down to Batemans Bay, east to Durras Lake and beyond to the many thousands of hectares of forest that  cover this ‘treeless land’.

Back on the road, we soon reached Batemans Bay, and aware that we were rather short on exercise, made our way to the Cullendulla Creek Natural Reserve and spent about three quarters of an hour walking along the shore opposite Batemans Bay’s marina, and along a boardwalk up the Cullendulla Creek through the mangroves and casuarinas, pausing to watch crabs scuttle about, retreating to their mud holes once they detected our presence. The reserve is of particular interest to scientists because it is home to a “chenier” dune complex, just like those along the south western shores of the Firth of Thames in New Zealand. This particular feature was not obvious to  a secular person such as I, or for that matter, my husband, however we both enjoyed the walk very much.

We were soon home and in plenty of time for Chris to watch a good portion of the first day’s innings of the Cricket Test being played in Brisbane between the South Africans and the Australians. These tests are five day affairs, so guess what we will be doing tomorrow afternoon?

8 November 2012 - Shady Willows Holiday Park, Batemans Bay, NSW

Despite the horrendous forecast, the worst is either still to come or has skirted the bay. And yet we have still tiptoed about, spending our day as if we were expecting a deluge at any moment.

This morning we drove to the service station to refuel with over 100 litres of diesel, still a surprise after all this travel, then down into the town where we walked about the shopping precinct, successfully tempted by the apparel displayed in a couple of clothing shops; a pair of shorts for Chris and a couple of scanty tops for myself. 

Still not willing to stray too far from the vehicle, we headed for the museum to find we had happened upon one of the two open days, but were too early. Instead we headed off around the Water Park, about a kilometre across a boardwalk and around the shoreline of a small reed filled lake populated with ducks, swamp hens, ibis, herons and coots. Alas this water way would be all the more attractive if someone were to paddle about gathering up the debris caught up in the mud and foliage.

The rain had still held off, we headed back to camp and buried ourselves in the election post mortems in the newspaper until lunch, after which we returned once more to the museum.

It’s a good little museum, staffed by a number of enthusiastic volunteers. This should be no surprise given that they only have to congregate twice a week for three hours at a time. Unfortunately for us, we arrived at the same time as a foursome who were particularly noisy, distracting us from our own absorption of the history on display. Each time we moved to a different room to avoid them, they were soon close behind. At one time, when I was back for a second attempt to read a very interesting diary excerpt of a missionary travelling in this part of the coast in the mid-1820s, one of the volunteers commented on my serious application. I responded explaining that I was having another go at it all, having found all the noise about quite distracting the first time. She agreed that the museum was rather busy today, left me to my reading and promptly engaged in hilarious conversation with a couple of other volunteers in the next room, distracting me yet again.

Batemans Bay today is a relaxed seaside town with a population of about 17,000, well placed as a retreat for those living in the country’s capital. European life started back when Captain Cook sailed past in 1770, noting and naming the bay. However it was not until 1821 that a Lt Johnson came with the explorers Mitchell and Hume, and named the river Clyde. And it was not until even later in the 1860s that permanent settlement occurred supporting farming and timber getting. Gold was discovered a little further south and around Nelligan just upriver, which acted as further impetus to development. After the gold rush, the building of the railroad across this vast country demanded great quantities of timber, in particular ironbark eucalypts for railway sleepers. Ships plied their trade up and down the coast, the only practical transport option for the export of this timber and everything else required to keep a community functioning. A track was opened up over Clyde Mountain through to Braidwood and on to Canberra, which we travelled in part while we were staying in Moruya. There was no bridge over the Clyde River to Batemans Bay until 1956. By then the ferry was struggling to keep up with the traffic flow up and down the Princes Highway.

The museum celebrates the timber industry as well as every other facet of local history and is well worth a visit for sure.

The marina at Catalina

Still feeling the effects of having spent such a sedentary yesterday, we drove down to the shore, parked near the marina and went for a walk along the pathway as far as Catalina, actually not very far at all. It was cold and we managed to convince ourselves that the gathering black clouds were about to dump on us. We returned to camp and much later, it started to drizzle. We have extended our stay by a couple of days and hope the manageress is quite incorrect in saying the weather will be absolutely dreadful tomorrow. We will venture out regardless.

7 November 2012 - Shady Willows Holiday Park, Batemans Bay, NSW

The rain set in soon after dinner last night and didn’t let up all night. Today there have been frequent showers, enough to make us feel vindicated about staying indoors.

We did pop out early this morning. I was waiting outside the hair salon when the doors opened and came away with months of growth lopped off and looking a whole lot more presentable. Chris in the meantime did the grocery shopping, managing to come out of the supermarket with very few extras. I could never trust him to do this in the past; retirement on a restricted income obviously has its upsides.

The rest of the day was spent glued to the television, watching the election results from the United States of America coming in; nail biting stuff.

At one point of the action, we were distracted by that of a more local nature. A caravan rig sped into the park and round into a site within view of ours. There was a crash, then another, then a rather jolly fat chap poked around with a power pole now very loose on the ground. Then out of the driver seat came his wife, with much arm gesticulation and discussion. We took delight in guessing at what was being said, none of which was particularly amorous or tender. The fat chap, now not at all jolly, poked and prodded the pole while his wife returned to the mechanics of unhitching which she appeared to do with great efficiency. We decided that we would not pop over to meet and greet them; why waste a habit of a lifetime? However we do hope to go have a sneaky peak at the damage at some later time if we see them go out.

As the afternoon continued to unfold, it seemed that the incumbent would remain in the White House. Had we taken a phantom bet as we did yesterday on the Melbourne Cup, we would have done better today. But as to whether this is good for the States or the world, our jury is out on that.

6 November 2012 - Shady Willows Holiday Park, Batemans Bay, NSW

I heard several showers of rain during the night but thankfully it has remained dry since. We were gone by 9.30 am despite the late 11 am check out time, and headed out to the coast continuing up George Bass Drive instead of following the Princes Highway, a route now travelled three times in the last few days. While this road follows the coastline, it is far enough inland for views of the sea to be screened by bush and small beachside communities. We pulled into Mossy Point and drove along the surf beach of Broulee. There we saw dozens of surfies readying themselves to take on the waves; the roadside an informal changing area. Broulee is particularly well known to the surfing enthusiasts; the waves run well even when all else is calm.

Back on the road, we pressed on north. 

On the map, I noted a walking track out to Burrewarra Point just south of Guerilla Bay. “Do you want to go there?” asked Chris.

“Yes, but only if you are willing to drive in and risk a poor turning place,” I responded.

“But do you want to go?” Chris insisted.

“Well yes, but if it is steep or difficult, it is your fault not mine, since you have agreed,” I insisted.

And so we did turn off and travel the short distance up to a parking spot. The views of the shore both north and south were obscured by dense scrub, and the tight parking spot was difficult to even turn around to leave. And leave we did, without even checking out the walkway. I promised to not suggest any further detours from our route to Batemans Bay and we continued on without event to soon arrive at this caravan park. Our coastal route had cost us ten kilometres more than the direct highway, and we were now wiser than before; discovery of the coastal spots was better done without a caravan in tow.

This camp is tucked in a hollow just off the main highway, unpretentious and pet and senior friendly. With a Senior card, a discount of 10% is available; I am not sure if any discount is offered to pet owners.

We set up, lunched and drove down into town. I was hoping to find one of those hair cutting franchisees in the shopping mall and I was duly rewarded. However, today, at least in Batemans Bay, it is “Hairdressers’ Picnic Day”. Well of course, it is! Melbourne Cup Day! I can well imagine a great bevvy of silly girls all dressed to the nines in their fascinators, minis and stilettos, getting even more silly on flutes of cheap champagne and squealing with delight as the horses head out of the starting blocks on the big screen. Do I sound jealous? No, not at all. It is twelve weeks since my last haircut and I was in the zone!

We returned to camp after a quick wander down to the river edge to admire the delightful shoreline, all promising walks in the days ahead, and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. Cup in hand we watched the Cup on our television, first having picked three horses each. Mine were chosen for silly reasons such as the jockey being named Olivier as is my younger son and another because I recognised the owner’s name. None of our six horses came anywhere near the front; mine came 11^th, 18^th and 23^rd respectively. 

We watched the presentations and felt sorry for Charles and Camilla who in the past three days have travelled from Papua New Guinea to Longreach and now today sweltering in their finery at Flemington Raceway. Jetlag and not being acclimatised to the Australian heat is not at all to be envied!

5 November 2012 - River Breeze Tourist Park, Moruya, Eurobodalla, NSW

It is Guy Fawkes Day today although I have seen little evidence of any celebration here. We did see on the news last night that an effigy of Lance Armstrong was burned in lieu of a Guy, in England somewhere, so obviously the tradition hangs on in some places of the world. Actually it is the American celebration of Halloween that seems to have caught a hold here in Australia, with silly people spending a fortune on costumes and all the palaver that comes with the territory; I guess I am just a party pooper.

This morning I woke in a semi-drugged state and it seems to have taken until late in the afternoon for the cloud to lift. Since leaving New Zealand twenty one months ago, my hay fever has been practically non-existent and I have, thankfully, lived a comfortable life without the daily popping of anti-histamine tables. However the last few days of sneezing became far worse yesterday, and after nearly scratching out my itchy eyes, I succumbed to just one pill. The hay fever was cured and instead I became zombie like. Considering I used to pop a couple at a time, it is surprising that one was able to affect me this way. And it should be noted that these are the “non-drowsy” variety.

This morning, after I managed a load of washing, we wandered across the bridge to the town and purchased the daily newspaper and a loaf of French bread, then came home and sat out under the awning. The clouds had tried a few times during the morning to squeeze out a few drops of rain but none very effectively. By lunch the temperature was up around 29 degrees and I was still not much of a fun companion for Chris. I lay down for a while, drifted off and then was woken by the neighbour packing his kids trikes into the motorboat parked up hard against our caravan. They have since left for Canberra.

It was time for some action, even if just a brief trip out to the heads and that is what we did. Toragy Point is just nine kilometres east along the southern banks of the Moruya River; a very quiet inauspicious place for even quieter retirees and absent holiday makers. We stood on the cliff above the wild sea, watching the waves crash onto the rocks below. The wind was fierce although quite warm. After a while, we were joined by a family who were keen to spot whales, and so they did. We all watched the antics of a school far out from the shore more active that we have seen so far. These majestic creatures threw their bodies high into the air and then crashed back down into the choppy seas. Again, it was one of those sights you generally have to pay lots of money to see, and here it was all for free, albeit at some distance.

Here on this point, lie the remnants of several graves including the family who made Moruya famous for its quarried stone. Quite a place to sit and pass the night, if you believe in wandering night spirits.

We returned to town and then drove out along the northern river bank in search of the quarry site, marked on the map. Although there is a pleasant pull off picnic spot more or less opposite some large gates which appear to be the entrance to a disused quarry, there is little else to celebrate the activity. We returned home.

After a cup of tea, Chris spot-washed the dust from the land cruiser and I did little more than ring through to our next caravan park. We want to have television for the next couple of days, what with the Melbourne Cup tomorrow and the American election the day after. The weather report for the next few days looks pretty dismal so we will feel quite vindicated passing them in front of the goggle box.